


Not a Laughing Matter

by ImpulsiveUserName



Category: Tootsie (1982)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Homophobia, Misunderstandings, POV Multiple, Sexism, Sexual Assault, Transphobia, Unhealthy Relationships, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:34:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpulsiveUserName/pseuds/ImpulsiveUserName
Summary: John Van Horn is a man who is confident in his attractiveness, and he is unused to hearing no. He knows Dorothy wants him, she just needs someone to give her permission to come out of her shell. He may actually be in love with her, and her long game is driving him mad.Jeff Slater is an aspiring playwright who shares his apartment with Michael Dorsey, aspiring actor. They get on, but sometimes Michael's total commitment to method acting causes more problems than it's worth. Now that Michael has taken on Dorothy's persona, it's almost like living with two roommates.Michael Dorsey has been dressing as Dorothy Michaels to make ends meet. After a stressful day, he just wants to go home and drink. John Van Horn showing up at his doorstep puts a damper on the whole evening, and Michael just needs to figure out the fastest way to make his coworker get the message and go away without breaking character.Three characters. Three points of view. An exploration of a scene in Tootsie from all characters involved.
Kudos: 2





	Not a Laughing Matter

**Author's Note:**

> Tags are potential trigger warnings, there isn't anything super explicit here, but read the tags to be safe.
> 
> This is a retelling of the scene in which John Van Horn shows up uninvited at Michael Dorsey's doorstep. The dialogue should all be exact quotes from the scene, but the interpretation of the meaning of the words and even the emotion behind them changes depending on whose eyes we look through. If you need a refresher, the scene can be found here, let me know if the link is broken:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o5fAHrVedso

**(Point of View: John Van Horn)**

John Van Horn knew he wasn’t a good actor. He’d been hired as the lead Doctor at Southwest General because he looked the part and had the voice for it. His looks and his voice were his strengths, even if he was getting on in years. The soap had been running for a decade, and he’d aged significantly in that time, but he still had no trouble playing the part of a man who could have any woman he wanted.

Southwest General averaged 220 episodes per year. Every three episodes or so had a new female bit part. John had kissed all of them. That was over 700 women, give or take. Dorothy Michaels was the only one who had refused to film it as scripted. The _only_ one. And that intrigued him.

There had been other female costars who had played hard to get outside of the script, certainly, but John knew the games they played well. The harder they pretended not to want him, the more brightly their passions burned under the surface. They made excuses about wanting to stay professional, which is what society dictated they ought to say. Women were always saying and doing what they ought, and it sometimes took a man to give them permission to break society’s taboos and cut loose.

Dorothy in particular showed this restrained passion. After he’d kissed her after their first show together, she’d been avoiding his gaze, practically blushing as she put forced distance between them. Every once in a while, their eyes would meet, and her eyes would pin his with the bright intensity of a thousand suns, like it was all she could do to keep from closing the distance between the two of them. She felt so strongly for him, John knew, she was just such a good traditional girl, that she needed permission.

John would give it to her.

Women like Dorothy needed a direct approach. They needed to feel like they had no other option but to give into their sexual passions. They needed the easy outs removed so they felt like they didn’t have a choice. This would absolve them of their ingrained guilt. Society was so cruel to women, guilting them for their carnal desires. It made courting such woman an interesting challenge.

Thus, John knew asking for her number wouldn’t work – she’d turn him down out of propriety. Prepositioning her at work wouldn’t work – she’d say no, fearing a witness around the corner. He had to do it outside of work. He’d taken a Taxi yesterday to chase hers, but lost her somewhere around an apartment complex. There were no names on the buzzers, and he couldn’t risk ringing the wrong one. So, he’d gone home that day. He was back today. Waiting. With nothing to occupy him but a hip flask to make the time pass a little faster.

The weather was nice for it at least, though it was getting awfully late. John filled his head with fantasies of what he’d do to her once she let down that massive wall she felt obligated to keep up around him at work. She’d probably like it if he showed initiative. Probably would want to be carried all bridal style to the bed. She’d huff and protest, but there wouldn’t be any real strength to it, and she’d look at him and let him know she really wanted it with her body if not her words. John chuckled to himself as he took another swig from the flask. It was the last gulp. Oh, yes. He knew her type well. And in the morning, she would be too embarrassed to look at him, so he’d make her breakfast. He hoped she stocked eggs, he could make eggs just fine. He’d make her feel like a woman the way only a man could.

She’d be the sort to expect a romance, and John enjoyed the gestures of romance very much, but honestly, he would be fine if they could just have sex. There was just something about her, a whole hidden layer to her, that John desperately wanted to unwrap. He could honestly say it’d been years since he’d been this passionate about a woman – many years since he’d genuinely been nervous about being rejected too. Just something about her made his heart race. He _had_ to have her. If she kept up this game much longer, his rapidly beating heart may just expire.

He was so wrapped up in his fantasies, he nearly missed the sound of a Taxi door closing – and there she was. She’d been out late, but he wouldn’t mind that, a good girl like her probably had lots of friends. It _was_ her, wasn’t it? He suddenly felt uncertain in the dark, his liquid courage having been drunk some time ago.

“Dorothy?” He called out with some uncertainty. When she looked at him, he realized he was right. His confidence returned.

“Don’t be angry at me, I just had to talk to you,” John said as he approached.

“Well, how did you know where I lived, John?”

“I followed you home last night,” he smiled, knowing it’d help make his passion for her clear.

“What? Followed me home?!”

“I just didn’t have the courage to talk to you on the phone without seeing your face,” John chuckled, the line honest if not calculated, the sort of romantic thing that made women swoon, that little indication that showed he valued her response so much it made him nervous. Dr. Brewster’s lines had taught him that women appreciated such things, he hadn’t had much luck at all until he’d become a star on the soap. “Could I come up for a drink?”

He was actually nervous, truly nervous, and it almost frightened him how much he cared about her response. He’d need all the liquid courage he could get to be on his best game. And, if he was being honest with himself… he didn’t particularly like sober sex. Everything felt better when you were just a little bit buzzed.

“No! You cannot come up, I have a terrible… headache. No!”

At her pause, he knew. The classic woman’s excuse for not having sex was a headache. She knew what he was after! She was going to make him work for it. He had expected the request for a drink to be accepted as proper women like Dorothy had strong instincts to be hospitable, but then again, Dorothy had to be one of the most fiercely stubborn women he’d ever met.

“Oh, please, I’ll only take a tiny moment of your time,” John implored sweetly.

“Wh- no, no!” she was shaking her head in tiny, frantic little shakes, going to move past him. “Uh, I’ll see you on the set tomorrow, and we’ll talk about it, I mean, eh…um, go home, have you been drinking?”

And with that she slipped into the building, closing the door behind her. Well damn. He knew she was shy from all the avoided glances, but somehow, he hadn’t realized that some of her refusals may have been due to anxiety rather than an overzealous sense of propriety. Well. Nervous women wanted to be shown that their man viewed them romantically and not just sexually. John knew just how to do that, he could prove he was serious. The moment Dorothy’s back left his field of view from the clear door, he looked up, examining the building’s structure. 6 units… not bad. He could take a guess which was hers, but really, no matter where he stood, he had a good chance of being heard, he just needed to be a few steps farther back to properly project.

John cleared his throat and hummed a few bars, making sure he was on key. Serenading was a genuine, old-fashioned, romantic gesture, so at the least she’d realize he was serious and unafraid to make a fool of himself for her. At worst, she’d be so mortified she’d call the cops on him, or one of her neighbors would. A moderate outcome would be if she opened the window and heard out his song, it’d be a good first step for future wooing attempts. He could endure any abuse the neighbors shouted for her sake, it’d all be worth it. The best outcome – she’d realize how serious he was and let him in, and he’d be able to better make his intentions known.

“I’ll know when my love comes along,” John projected powerfully as he sang, staring intently at the windows. “I’ll know then and there!”

If singing allowed for facial expressions, he would have beamed as the lights inside began turning on in various windows. He kept singing.

“I’ll know at the sight of her-“

The woman in question opened her window aggressively. “Shh! Shh! Are you out of your cotton-picking mind?! Come on up! I’m on the third floor! Hurry before someone calls the cops! Jesus!”

She slammed the window shut.

Despite her clear frustration with him, John couldn’t help but beam broadly as she invited him inside. He knew it, he knew it – on some level she wanted him. It was the best possible outcome. While a proper woman wouldn’t want to disturb the neighbors, a proper woman would also worry at the implications of the many witnesses he’d summoned with his singing, knowing she’d invited her apparent lover inside. She, an unmarried woman! It was practically an admission of indiscretion, and if she was willing to broadcast that indiscretion to the neighbors, he wouldn’t be getting a no tonight!

XXX

Dorothy was notably flustered when she let him in.

“Come in John, but you can just stay a minute!”

“Can I have a drink? Anything alcoholic will do,” he said, walking past her, insinuating himself firmly inside. “Just one drink,” he said turning to face her, “and I’ll be on my way.”

“Oh alright, but I-I-“ she walked away to fetch it, her nervousness apparent - his presence was clearly affecting her.

“Nice mirror,” he said, catching his reflection in a mirror pinned above the sink, and adjusting his hair. He didn’t look any worse for the wear after standing for several hours outside. Damn, he was nervous. He was glad she was clearly nervous too, it felt like they were on the same wavelength.

He took out his breath spray and did two spritz. It would mask the alcohol a bit, and it gave him confidence. He took the time to look around her place. It was far more masculine than he’d expected. Simple. Quaint. It somehow suited her. There were clear signs of costumes, makeup, and acting memorabilia all around. It felt like he understood her a bit better now. Acting was her life and she didn’t much care for housekeeping.

“Here,” his thoughts were interrupted by her soft voice, and he turned to face her as she approached with his requested drink. “What is it that couldn’t wait, John?” she asked.

“Dorothy,” he said, his voice husky. Gods, he wanted her.

“What?” she asked.

He took a breath. “I’m just an untalented old has-been who-“

“W-w-w-were you ever famous?”

“No…” he said automatically, shocked out of his planned speech.

“Then how can you be a has-been?”

Wow. Damn. His display of modesty before his proposition had just been neatly sliced to ribbons. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“I love the way you never let me get away with anything!” No other woman had succeeded in throwing him off kilter the way she could. It was… exciting. He could feel heat stirring in his loins in anticipation of what was to come. Shit. He couldn’t restrain himself any longer.

He chugged the proffered alcoholic beverage. He barely tasted it as he drank it in full, needing every bit of liquid courage he could find. Do or die time. And no teleprompter to help him.

“Dorothy,” he repeated.

“Yes?” and her innocent voice went straight to his crotch.

“I want you,” he got out.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve never wanted a woman this much,” he proclaimed, and he made his move, cards on the table, now in for the kill. Her lips looked delicious as he placed his hands on her shoulders, pulling her in for the kiss- yet for some reason it wasn’t working, she was still managing to keep him away.

“Oh please John, please, perhaps another time-“

Determined to play her game until the last.

“Turn me away, it’ll kill me!” John exclaimed. How was she so strong? Or maybe he was weak? His head felt hot and fuzzy. Maybe it was the alcohol affecting him– but damn it, he’d been waiting so long and he couldn’t wait any longer!

“No, it’s not you personally, I don’t want to get involved emotionally at this time!”

She was wiggling away, climbing right over her chair to do it. Hard to get, indeed. At this point he wasn’t sure what fueled it – a sense of old-fashioned decency like he’d thought, or anxiety towards relationships?... maybe something more tragic like a dead fiancé… well shit, maybe he’d misjudged her, but he knew he’d seen her passion, no woman had stared at him as fiercely as she had.

“Then I’ll take straight sex,” he bargained. Perhaps that was all she wanted. That would make sense of this whole thing, society would frown on it, and it’d explain her caution. A purely sexual relationship would rob him of truly getting to know her and seeing the whole woman underneath that shell, but he couldn’t deny he craved such intimacy more than anything else at this moment. Seeing the woman underneath her clothes would be enough.

She twisted in his arms to face him. “I don’t want to hurt you!” she exclaimed. His heart melted at her passionate assertion. Her eyes were lit with that fire he so loved, and fear – she was at war with herself. Afraid to seize what she really wanted – and she was so concerned for him, afraid he’d get emotionally attached and hurt!

He smiled fondly. “I don’t mind,” he said, and he rubbed his free left hand gently over her lower belly, feeling the transition down to the outer edge of her hip, making sure to continue to support her with his right arm about her waist so she didn’t topple right off her chair. Her hand was gripping his jacket so tightly, wound under the fabric so intimately… He was so hard it ached. He could give her what she wanted.

“Holy shit,” she swore in a rather unladylike manner, twisting away from him again, turning to get down off the chair, and he couldn’t help but pull her back against him, her ass flush against his crotch, to give her a sneak peak at what was to come and hopefully get her engine revving.

There was a squeak at the door, and he let go of her, startled, turning to see… another man? What?

In that moment, it felt like someone had doused him with cold water. He adjusted his Ascot self-consciously, pulling his jacket forward to hopefully hide his fading bulge. Dorothy also was collecting herself.

“Uh… John Van Horn, Jeff Slater,” she introduced, getting off the chair. “Jeff Slater, John Van Horn.”

Shit. Shit!!! He’d misjudged, _horribly_ misjudged! She was claimed by another man!

“How d’you do?” The man called Jeff asked. He looked so put out!

“How d’you do?” John answered in kind. He felt so guilty. He’d clearly broken the man.

He turned to Dorothy, heart full of shame at molesting a taken woman. He was nothing if not a man of honor, and he knew not to take something that belonged to someone else. She may have wanted him, but he should have asked if she was seeing someone. That was an oversight on his part. Her passionate gazes had been nothing but an unchecked impulse, one that could have been his if he’d waited Jeff out, but now? Now he’d ruined everything.

“I’ll be going,” he said, and he was genuinely heartbroken.

“I think it’s best,” she replied in her polite way, and he could have shattered on the spot. He turned to leave with as much dignity as a man who’d been caught trying to steal someone’s girl could.

“Gee, I hope I haven’t-“ Jeff began with some sarcasm-

“No, I hope _I_ haven’t,” John quickly cut off. He was a man of honor, he had pride in that, and he wouldn’t allow a misunderstanding to soil either _his_ image, or _Dorothy’s_. He was no adulterer, and she hadn’t once said explicitly that she wanted him. She’d been faithful in words if not in spirit, and who could blame a wandering heart?

“I want you to know for the record, Jeff, that… nothing happened here tonight,” John implored.

The man looked at him intently, then glanced at Dorothy, then down at the ground for a few moments, before returning his gaze back to him. John looked at him earnestly. He hoped the other man would believe him.

“Thank you, John.” Jeff responded, his voice cold and disappointed. Damn it. It didn’t look like he believed him. John’s heart ached. He wished no harm on the other man who clearly recognized Dorothy for the amazing, unique women he knew she was. He felt a sort of kinship with him.

John glanced back at the woman behind him, facing her properly.

“I’m sorry, Dorothy,” he apologized. She nodded fragilely, arms folded. “I didn’t understand,” he pled. “I’m _really_ sorry.”

Sorry for not asking if you were seeing someone. Sorry for potentially ruining things with Jeff. Sorry he hadn’t understood that she was exercising restraint to keep from hurting her man. His heart had shattered on the floor, crushed dreams collapsing along with it.

He glanced away from her briefly in shame - her lack of response stung.

“Please, don’t talk about this,” he implored. He couldn’t be known as an adulterer, it’d destroy what little dregs remained of his wounded pride.

“My lips are sealed,” she said, miming locking them and throwing away the key, and he was reminded all over again why he fell for her.

He gave Jeff one last glance of solidarity as a fellow man who loved Dorothy before leaving quickly, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

He’d been right. She’d been special. He was actually going to grieve losing this one. There were many fish in the sea, but none other quite like Dorothy.

XXX

**(Point of View: Jeff Slater)**

Jeff opened his apartment door to a sight he hadn’t expected, but wasn’t necessarily shocked to see. His roommate, in a dress, bent over as his costar hugged him from behind. He only saw it for a moment before the man quickly pulled away, but it couldn’t be unseen.

Michael shook his head as Jeff glanced between them, seemingly trying to negate Jeff’s assumption, like he thought Jeff would think he’d walked in on his roommate getting hot and heavy with another man. Such a thought was ridiculous, Jeff knew exactly what was going on here. He’d put up with a lot of crap from Michael over the years, but his method acting was always the most challenging aspect of their living arrangement. Michael _became_ his characters, and this time, he had become ‘Dorothy’, and if he’d decided Dorothy was the sort of gal who couldn’t turn down her male coworkers with any sort of force, this sort of situation had always been inevitable. Jeff was torn between annoyance at having his space invaded and mild amusement at Michael’s expense.

“Uh… John Van Horn, Jeff Slater,” Michael said in Dorothy’s voice, getting off the chair, looking very much like a woman doing a walk of shame. “Jeff Slater, John Van Horn.”

“How d’you do?” Jeff asked the soap star flatly. It was annoying, but it’d be up to him to help Michael out of this mess, without blowing his cover, and the best way to do it would be to play ‘Dorothy’s boyfriend’.

“How d’you do?” John answered in kind. The man looked so ashamed, it was embarrassing.

John turned to Michael. “I’ll be going,” he said, sounding very put out.

“I think it’s best,” Michael replied, wringing his hands, laying it on thick.

“Gee, I hope I haven’t-“ Jeff began, loading his voice with disdain like the boyfriend who caught his gal with another man would do-

“No, I hope _I_ haven’t,” John quickly cut off, and Jeff saw Michael roll his eyes, exasperated either by Jeff’s implication or perhaps at Van Horn’s attempts to placate Jeff.

“I want you to know for the record, Jeff, that… nothing happened here tonight.”

John’s gaze was earnest. Not acting, Jeff decided, truly he was an old-fashioned romantic, in love with a woman who didn’t exist. That was awkward, and Jeff couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the guy, and a bit annoyed at Michael for getting into this mess. Jeff glanced at Michael, then down at the ground for a few moments to school his expression into something appropriate for the role he needed to play, before returning his gaze back to John. Seriously, he just wanted to come home to a normal apartment, not horny old men who had been led astray by a too-good method actor, and he didn’t want to be forced to play a bit-part in his own home. Michael could be downright inconsiderate sometimes.

“Thank you, John.” Jeff responded, his voice stiff, trying not to think too deeply about the other man’s (gross) infatuation with his roommate – nor the fact that John clearly bought that Jeff himself was Dorothy’s boyfriend… that thought made him feel a bit squeamish, honestly.

John turned back to Michael.

“I’m sorry, Dorothy,” he apologized. Michael nodded fragilely, arms folded, playing the consummate victim. “I didn’t understand,” John pled. “I’m _really_ sorry.”

John was looking at Jeff again, expression hangdog, before turning back to Michael quickly.

“Please, don’t talk about this,” he implored. _Jesus, Michael, you really destroyed this guy._

“My lips are sealed,” Michael said, miming locking his lips and throwing away the key.

John gave Jeff one last apologetic look before leaving quickly, and peace descended upon the apartment once more.

Jeff waited a moment to make sure John was truly gone, then gave his roommate a quick once over with his eyes. He seemed fine, if not a little frazzled. Jeff let out a small breath through his nose, almost a snort, his annoyance at being put upon fading. The whole situation felt like it had been pulled straight from the sort of soap Michael was working at. Now, that John Van Horn guy would think Dorothy was two-timing him, all while ‘Dorothy’ didn’t really exist. While Jeff wasn’t positive his roommate was 100% straight, Van Horn wouldn’t be Michael’s type, and the thought of Michael fending off the geriatric geezer’s lovesick advances while acting as the polite Dorothy character _was_ pretty amusing.

“You slut!” Jeff teased, putting as much faux scandalization into his voice as he could.

“Look, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t start in with me, don’t don’t, don’t do that,” Michael was unusually inarticulate as he approached the table, grabbing the back of a chair to pull it out. “Rape is not a laughing matter.”

Jeff raised his eyebrows at the Michael’s overly dramatic word choice, setting his belongings on the counter lethargically. It was going to be one of _those_ nights, where Michael got far too passionate about far too little. Being grabbed from behind was hardly rape, and it wasn’t like John posed any kind of real threat to Michael – John wanted _Dorothy_ , and if Michael weren’t so stubbornly committed to the character, he could have easily broken John’s grip and punched his lights out.

“That guy wanted me,” Michael groaned as he lowered himself into the kitchen chair, stripping off bits of his disguise. “You cannot _believe_ the night I have had tonight!”

Jeff began to take off his coat half-heartedly, trying to prepare himself for one of Michael’s rants, so dramatic, they were better suited for stage plays. Once Michael got going, he may monologue for hours.

“I think I can imagine,” Jeff said dismissively, not quite having the energy to pretend to be interested.

“Oh no you can’t,” Michael insisted. “I saw the look in his eyes, I was in big trouble,” he rambled, and Jeff couldn’t suppress a smirk at the laughable idea that John could have caused Michael any serious trouble, placing his coat over the back of the chair.

“You don’t come in, I’m in the Daily News the next morning,” Michael insisted, wig off on the table, removing his earrings. Jeff placed his hands on his hips, for a moment imagining the headline of his roommate committing murder for being felt up. Now Michael was just being ridiculous – the whole thing had been completely avoidable, you needed a key to get inside, and if Michael had really been that disgusted by the old man, why the hell had he let him in?

“How did you ever let him in here?” Jeff inquired incredulously, trying to understand Michael’s strong commitment to method acting, and how ‘Dorothy’ thought.

“What do you mean how did I let him in here-“

“Yeah, how-“ Jeff began-

“he was _singing_!” Michael aggressively gestured at the window.

What, and it wouldn’t make sense for the Dorothy character to resist those charms?

“Is he that good a singer?” Jeff inquired, baffled by Michael’s daft decisions.

“What do you mean, ‘is he-‘”

They were cut off by a knock, and Jeff startled, but nothing compared to Michael’s reaction.

“It’s him, it’s him!” he hissed, leaping to his feet as if the seat had caught fire. “Tell him I’m in the bedroom crying, do not-let-him-in!”

Jeff half shrugged at Michael’s antics. Michael was way too keyed up about this, and Jeff was too tired for it. Life was too stressful now that Michael was Dorothy. He’d never understand him. Michael was a good guy, but he was a giant pain in the ass to live with sometimes.

XXX

**(Point of View: Michael Dorsey)**

Today had been a fucking nightmare. He’d gone out with the intention to let Les down gently, and somehow got a marriage proposal. A freaking _marriage proposal_. What was it that made Dorothy so likable? And could he bottle it up and keep it as Michael? Jesus, in hindsight, he wished he’d made Dorothy more of an asshole. He’d already messed things up with Julie, and now he’d fucked up further by accidentally stringing along her father. He just… couldn’t bring himself to break the man’s heart. Les was a real sweetheart, a gentleman, and (maybe, hopefully) his future father-in-law, and he didn’t want to hurt him.

Now, he just wanted to get out of these clothes, become Michael again, collapse on the couch and drink some bourbon. OK, maybe a lot of bourbon.

These were the thoughts on Michael’s mind as he closed the taxi door, only to hear that voice-

“Dorothy?”

Michael looked up. John Van Horn… looking all nervous and anxious to see him. Fuck.

“This is a nightmare,” Michael murmured quietly to himself, unable to believe his misfortune. He couldn’t be _that_ attractive as a woman… could he?

Whatever. He’d succeed this time where he’d failed with Les, there would be no guilt stopping him from rejecting John and twisting the knife deep if need be. Michael hated his ditzy, no-talent costar with a passion, barely restraining himself from walking up and punching him in the nose on multiple occasions, and he’d be certain to get this man to leave him the fuck alone.

“Don’t be angry at me, I just had to talk to you,” John said as he approached.

“Well, how did you know where I lived, John?” Michael asked, making sure to sound stern.

“I followed you home last night,” John smiled in a way he likely thought was endearing, but it just felt predatory to Michael.

“What? Followed me home?!” Seriously, what was wrong with the man?! That was some serious stalker level shit. Women only found that stuff attractive in unrealistic rom-coms, in reality, being confronted by a male coworker who had no business knowing your address with no witnesses in sight had to be scary as hell, and Michael channeled this emotion into Dorothy.

“I just didn’t have the courage to talk to you on the phone without seeing your face,” John chuckled, and Michael cringed at the lame excuse for overstepping boundaries. “Could I come up for a drink?”

Of all the freaking nerve.

“No! You cannot come up, I have a terrible… headache. No!”

Michael hadn’t been able to think of a better excuse, and he cursed himself for it. He knew John had likely come looking to seduce Dorothy, and that had been on Michael’s mind as he tried to think of a reason to turn him away. When women said they had a headache in response to a sexual proposition, it was almost always a false excuse to attempt to turn a man down without hurting his fragile ego. John would interpret it as such.

“Oh, please, I’ll only take a tiny moment of your time,” John implored, and his flirtatious voice felt condescending and abrasive.

“Wh- no, no!” Michael shook his head in tiny, frantic little shakes, going to move past John, a little rattled by his persistence. “Uh, I’ll see you on the set tomorrow, and we’ll talk about it, I mean, eh…um, go home, have you been drinking?”

With that, he slipped into the building, closing the door behind him. Fuck. Well, that could have gone better. Telling John to ‘fuck off’ would have been out of character for Dorothy, but he hadn’t really expected his elder costar to be so completely obtuse. He wasn’t sure if John had been drinking or not, but he knew he had a drinking problem, so it wasn’t out of the question. At any rate, at least he’d managed to make it clear Dorothy thought John was not in his right frame of mind and wasn’t going to take him seriously. No sir, Dorothy was no floozy.

Unfortunately, John would probably confront him tomorrow, so he’d only delayed the uncomfortable conversation. Michael felt he had a sort of power over men when he chose to flirt as Dorothy, as he had with his agent to prove a point, but it felt vile to have men flirting with him – Dorothy just didn’t have the same freedom of words and power expressions as men had to tell an unwanted admirer to piss off, and no matter what he did, all men seemed to fail to take his protests seriously, and even found them _cute_. It was freaking _frustrating_.

There was no elevator in his building, and Michael was a little winded when he opened his apartment door, feet aching in his heels, and he just wanted the day to be fucking over- when he heard it.

“I’ll know when my love comes along,” a powerful voice sang out, and Michael’s head snapped in the direction of the voice.

He knew who that was.

“Oh, Jesus,” he swore, hustling across the living room in his aching high-heeled feet.

“I’ll know then and there!” John continued to bellow as he crossed the room. “I’ll know at the sight of her-“

Michael finally managed to wrench the window open, desperate to get the man to stop that humiliating racket. “Shh! Shh!” he whisper-shouted. “Are you out of your cotton-picking mind?! Come on up! I’m on the third floor! Hurry before someone calls the cops! Jesus!”

He slammed the window shut. Christ, this man was going to be the death of him. Dorothy would have to find her voice. ‘You’re drunk John, go home,’ he could say. He’d call him a taxi. John was probably about to attempt an embarrassing love declaration, and Michael would have to make it abundantly clear Dorothy wasn’t interested. Dorothy didn’t date coworkers. Dorothy didn’t want the emotional heartache of a romance. John wasn’t attractive, he just wasn’t her type, she wanted a man who could speak to her on her level – no, no, he couldn’t have Dorothy say that, that may just piss John off, and he wasn’t sure he could deal with an enraged alpha male while wearing heels.

By the time John arrived at the door, similarly winded from taking the stairs, Michael still hadn’t thought of a proper plan to get the man out of his apartment.

“Come in John, but you can just stay a minute!” he said, trying to impress upon his costar that he was being an inconvenience, and he wasn’t wanted.

“Can I have a drink? Anything alcoholic will do,” John requested, walking past Michael, insinuating himself firmly inside the building and trapping Michael between John’s body and the door. Damn it, he’d hoped John would take the hint and not just invite himself in like that, what part of ‘stay a minute’ implied ‘make yourself at home and invite yourself to my liquor?’

“Just one drink,” John implored, turning to face Michael, “and I’ll be on my way.”

Shit, what was he supposed to do? If he refused, it’d just drag out the conversation and make him deal with more of John’s wheedling and pleading, but at the same time giving an already irrational half-wit alcohol didn’t seem like a good idea.

Dorothy would be hospitable, she was a proper southern girl. Damn it, he had to keep character.

“Oh alright, but I-I-“ he walked away to fetch it, swallowing his words as he tried desperately to think of something that a man who was used to having women swoon over him would take as a clear rejection. He couldn’t think of anything.

All he had was strong stuff, so he grabbed the bottle of bourbon he’d intended to consume himself.

“Nice mirror,” John said somewhere behind him, and Michael rushed to complete his task. The sooner John had his little drink, the sooner he’d leave.

Michael poured out the same amount he himself would drink… and perhaps it wasn’t ladylike for Dorothy to drink bourbon, but by now he just wanted John out more than he wanted to contemplate whether Dorothy was the kind of girl to consume hard liquor.

“Here,” Michael said, approaching the distracted actor with the drink. “What is it that couldn’t wait, John?” he asked as John turned around

“Dorothy,” John breathed, and damn it all if he didn’t sound husky.

“What?” Michael asked, not really wanting the conversation to continue.

John took a breath. “I’m just an untalented old has-been who-“

“W-w-w-were you ever famous?” Michael quickly interrupted.

“No…” John replied.

“Then how can you be a has-been?” Michael prodded with faux innocence. There. Wound the man in his pride. Take the wind out of his sails. Make clear Dorothy’s above him. She’s not interested. In fact, John is so far off her radar it doesn’t even occur to her that he’s flirting. Yeah, that seems to fit.

Unfortunately, the quip didn’t have the reaction Michael expected as John began to laugh.

“I love the way you never let me get away with anything!” He beamed.

John chugged the proffered alcoholic beverage, and Michael heard alarm bells going off in his head as the other man seemed to be preparing himself to say something truly outrageous.

“Dorothy,” he repeated.

“Yes?” Michael replied, feigning innocence, trying to remember the interpretations he’d decided Dorothy had of John’s character.

“I want you,” John purred.

“I beg your pardon?”

The shock was genuine. His mind actually went blank. Michael had known John was lusting after him, sure… but he figured the old man would have said something soppy and painfully cheesy and romantic, not make a strong pass at him.

“I’ve never wanted a woman this much!” John proclaimed, and he made his move, and it was all Michael could do to block John’s advance as John placed his hands on his shoulders, pulling him in and attempting to kiss him.

“Oh please John, please, perhaps another time-“ Michael said frantically, realizing no woman could realistically hold John back, and if he had truly been a woman, John would have succeeded in kissing Dorothy against her will by now, and that freaked him out.

“Turn me away, it’ll kill me!” John roared, and Michael felt a twinge of fear.

“No, it’s not you personally, I don’t want to get involved emotionally at this time!” Michael pled, automatically in character, and it suddenly clicked why women wouldn’t aggressively rebuff a man’s advances. Introducing rage to a desperate man seemed likely to incline him to violence- but he feared his words wouldn’t be heard as he tried frantically to get away, climbing right over the chair in a desperate attempt to make his disinterest clear enough even for this thickskulled moron. He couldn’t insult or emasculate John, that was the wrong strategy, he needed to keep the other man’s pride intact if he wanted to avoid getting slapped, Dorothy couldn’t have a puffy face.

“Then I’ll take straight sex,” John bargained, and something inside Michael froze. No. No, no, no, was that what John had come up here expecting? From the beginning? Had he been planning to take what he wanted with or without Dorothy’s consent all along? Michael became hyper aware of the man’s arms about his waist as he twisted to face his aggressor.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” he threatened, raising his fist, holding tight to John’s suit to steady his aim, but John’s expression, if anything, seemed to become amused instead of threatened, his eyes blazing with undefinable emotion.

“I don’t mind,” John said, and Michael felt ice creep up his spine as he felt John’s hand rub over his lower belly, down to the outer edge of his hip, dangerously close to a bit of male anatomy Michael couldn’t hide. Michael finally recognized the emotion in John’s eyes – arousal. John wanted to have sex with Dorothy, and he didn’t care whether she consented or not.

Time seemed to come to a complete stop as Michael’s brain went into overdrive trying to figure out how to extricate himself from this situation. Michael imagined punching John in the face… but John’s arm was holding him up, giving him balance as his heels dug clumsily into the cushy fabric of the chair, and if the one punch wasn't enough to take John out, what then? It was a gamble whether Michael would be able to fight back fast enough. He worked out, but John was heavier and taller. If John ripped Michael's clothes off and saw his obviously male body, what would he do?

Michael knew if he’d been getting hot and heavy with a woman and suddenly discovered she was a man, he would have slapped the imposter... he would have been offended at the man’s deception, and done it without thinking, he would feel violated, humiliated, emasculated… would John stop at a slap? Was John the sort of man who would feel his masculinity was threatened if he realized he’d been attempting to have sex with a man? Would he kill to prevent the secret from getting out? John was willing to rape, it wasn’t much of a stretch to think he’d be willing to kill.

“Holy shit,” Michael swore as he made this realization, time resuming its normal speed, and he twisted away from John, trying to get his bearings and get down off the chair, he needed to get into a place where he had more stability, had to prevent John from disrobing him and discovering he was male, his life depended on it-

Michael felt John pull his body flush against his as he struggled, John’s chest pressed into his back, John’s crotch pressed-

_Holy hell, was that-_

There was a squeak at the door, and John let go as if burned as the two of them turned to face the interruption.

Oh, thank God, thank _God_ , _Jeff!_ Michael took several deep breaths, trying to calm down from his sheer terror spike from mere seconds ago, shaking his head in shocked disbelief as the past few seconds caught up to him, unable to completely believe what had just happened.

“Uh… John Van Horn, Jeff Slater,” he began to say, getting off the chair carefully, carefully, so as not to fall. “Jeff Slater, John Van Horn.”

“How d’you do?” Jeff asked, looking like he was struggling to process the scene.

“How d’you do?” John answered in kind, his sanity seemingly restored as the monster from earlier vanished in the face of witnesses.

John turned to Michael, looking reluctant and heartbroken.

“I’ll be going,” he moped.

“I think it’s best,” Michael replied weakly, still feeling rattled.

“Gee, I hope I haven’t-“ Jeff began, clearly intent to tease,

“No, I hope _I_ haven’t,” John quickly cut off, and Michael rolled his eyes at John acting so normal after his earlier burst of violence, folding his arms defensively as he fought off a shudder at the memory of something hard and far too hot pressing into his ass.

“I want you to know for the record, Jeff, that… nothing happened here tonight,” John implored.

 _Fuck your_ nothing _, John_ , Michael silently seethed.

“Thank you, John.” Jeff responded, his voice flat.

John turned to face Michael once more, and Michael felt something hard drop into his stomach under the man’s pitying gaze.

“I’m sorry, Dorothy,” John apologized. Michael nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak, folding his arms tighter in a subconscious self-hug.

“I didn’t understand,” John pled. “I’m _really_ sorry.”

Apologies don’t cover attempted rape, he’d wanted to _rape_ Dorothy.

 _He wanted to rape_ me, the thought hit Michael like a sledgehammer.

John glanced away from him momentarily, and Michael was relieved to be freed from his gaze, however briefly.

“Please, don’t talk about this,” John implored Michael.

“My lips are sealed,” Michael said, miming locking them and throwing away the key, as if he was going to fucking tell the police he dressed as a woman and a man attempted to rape him. Still, it took some serious balls to think you could ask a woman to keep quiet about her assault with some simple begging… but it wouldn’t be out of character for Dorothy never to mention it again, and that thought somehow cut deep.

John gave Jeff one last glance before leaving quickly, seemingly ashamed of himself, as he should be.

He was gone. Gone. Michael began to slowly relax, looking at the familiar face of his roommate.

“You slut!” Jeff teased, voice filled with obvious fake scandal.

Michael felt the last of the fear and tension leave his body, replaced with a bone deep exhaustion.

“Look, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t start in with me, don’t don’t, don’t do that,” Michael muttered as he approached the table, grabbing the back of a chair to pull it out. “Rape is not a laughing matter. That guy wanted me,” Michael groaned as he lowered himself into the kitchen chair, stripping off bits of his disguise. “You cannot _believe_ the night I have had tonight!”

First Les danced with him and proposed, making him feel trapped but flattered, then John attempted to seduce him, and when that didn’t work, tried to rape him, making him feel trapped and terrified. He still felt a bit trapped in his own web of layered characters and lies. Fuck it all, he was tired.

“I think I can imagine,” Jeff said casually, and that grated.

“Oh no you can’t,” Michael insisted. “I saw the look in his eyes, I was in big trouble,” he rambled, remembering that lust filled burning gaze, remembering that sensation of that – no, he wasn’t going to think about that, maybe he'd only imagined he felt it-

“You don’t come in, I’m in the Daily News the next morning,” Michael insisted, wig off on the table, removing his earrings. He could have been murdered. Possibly raped, though John probably would have lost his boner at seeing his male form, so probably just murdered.

“How did you ever let him in here?” Jeff inquired incredulously.

“What do you mean how did I _let_ him in here-" like he was implying it would have been Dorothy’s own fault if she’d been raped-

“Yeah, how-“ Jeff began-

“he was _singing_!” Michael aggressively gestured at the window. Like hell he could let some man loudly serenade him in front of a fucking audience. It was humiliating.

“Is he that good a singer?” Jeff inquired, seemingly baffled.

“What do you mean, ‘is he-‘”

They were cut off by a knock, and Michael felt an intense blaze of white hot fear nearly take his breath away.

“It’s him, it’s him!” he hissed, leaping to his feet as if the seat had caught fire. “Tell him I’m in the bedroom crying, do not-let-him-in!”

Michael prepared to run to his room, there was no way he could face John now.

He never wanted to see John again.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is basically what happens when you watch the YouTube Video "Sexual Assault of Men Played for Laughs" by Pop Culture Detective (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uc6QxD2_yQw), then two days later watch the film Tootsie for the first time which contains the line "Rape is not a laughing matter." Oddly enough, the scene did indeed seem to be played for laughs - you're supposed to laugh at Michael's dilemma. But then as the scene wraps up, while Jeff uses the traditional lines we'd expect in a 'comedic assault' scene, Michael plays out an actually traumatized character.
> 
> This inspired me to attempt to delve into the minds of all the characters involved, in part because I'm not used to writing these types of characters, and in part to explore how sexual assault tends to get diminished or written off in the minds of others as 'not a big deal' and why that might occur. This story was a particular challenge for me, because my style of writing is often to create a character and see where they take me, and in this case I knew where I was going, but had to define the character, so it felt backwards. Secondly, I've always had to put conscious effort into 'theory of mind', and often fall into the trap of having all of my fictional characters be super introspective analytical types like me. I feel I perhaps made Van Horn too smart and manipulative rather than daft and bumbling, and I struggled to cut down the internal dialogue, but even if I didn't quite manage to do it perfectly, I enjoyed the challenge.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, feedback and criticism welcome, especially on characterizations and your own interpretations of the scene. We can all watch the same scene and come away with a different interpretation and that's fascinating.


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